Full-on summer.

Here's what my life has looked like lately:
Patio patio, beer, beer, patio beer, bike, beer, patio, bike bike, patio bike beer, (work), mosquito bites, beer bike patio bike, jazz/funk.

I'm not complaining at all, mind you, but I am a little bloated and and have a lot of itchy red welts around my ankles. I am very tasty to mosquitoes, siiiiigh.

So about the jazz/funk. I signed up for my sister's jazz/funk class again last week. "Jazz/funk" is a genre which apparently exists only in MN, and it pretty much just means shaking it to a funky beat. Have you seen the episode of The Simpsons where Lisa tries to tap dance and her teacher's only instructions are "tappa tappa tappa"? Jazz/funk is not at all like that, but for the movements that don't really have a name, my sister is calling them "sexy sexy sexy." It's the jazz/funk version of "tappa tappa tappa!" It's kicking my butt a little bit, but in a very good, fun, I'm-not-very-good-at-this-whee! kind of way. Once the session is over, I'll probably sign up for some other thing I don't really know how to do. We ditched our gym membership recently--what with all the biking and running and lovely weather, it was starting to get really ridiculous even to contemplate driving somewhere to go indoors and lift weights.

Last weekend, young Jude went to the emergency room with his little wangskin caught in the zipper of his pants. If this should ever befall you or your loved ones, know that you can cut the bottom off the zipper and simply pull the two sides apart (from the bottom). He is fine.

I know, it's been sort of quiet in the wake of my near-daily posting in May. I do, however, have posts brewing (i.e. in crappy drafts) on the following:
-The Outlander series.
-Feminist blogs.

Other:
I've photographed and measured and even written descriptions for 5 dresses for my shop, but haven't posted them.

I have a PILE of crap to type up on my desk--meeting minutes and whatnot--but I have to go to another meeting in a few minutes, so nothing is going to get typed.

I forgot to eat the avocado that I specifically bought this morning to top my Snobby Joe chipotle vegan sausage green bean melange. Now it lolls on my desk near the to-type pile, right next to a very spankable apricot. Don't tell me you've never thought an apricot or a peach looked like a rosy creased bum.

My entire commute was straight into the wind this morning. I have to ride six miles to another meeting after work, and then nine miles home. Please keep your fingers crossed that the wind does not reverse itself to blow into my grille on the rest of my rides. I am only about 150 miles into my bike commuting career and my legs might give out.

I bought $90 running shoes yesterday. They did not make me go any faster.

Also, happy Father's Day to my dad. He asked for scotch and manure for a gift. Whiskey-n-shit.

WHAT.

What you maybe didn't know is that running a 5K was something I had put on my list of things to do before I kick it, and now I get to cross it off. It feels damn good to cross something off that particular list.

My goal was simply to finish in under 35 minutes with minimal walk breaks--I run at a very conversational pace and don't care about speed because I am not built or wired to be fast--and my time was 32:40, which includes two minutes of walking. So holla.

I have to admit that there may have been a little bit of teary-eyedness afterwards. I have gotten a lot of applause in my life, but never ever for crossing a finish line.

ETA: I forgot to tell you that I saw another great blue heron over my head before the first mile marker. I said thank you.

Don't threaten me with love, baby, let's just go walking in the rain.

I got caught in a cloudburst tonight. There was NO ONE running around the lake, I think perhaps because of the severe thunderstorm warnings they've been tossing around all day and all the crazy lightning I saw on the way home from work, and the thunder crack so loud I actually jumped in my car. But most of it blew over and the weather warnings expired and I was determined to do one more run before the 5K on Saturday, so I went out anyway.

Most of it was fine, even though I was tired (I biked a lot yesterday and my quads are objecting). It was blustery and gray and humid but not raining, and the great blue heron kept launching himself around the lake just ahead of me. I have seen loads of herons in the last few days, incidentally. Or maybe just the same one, cruising around wherever I happen to be. Anyway, a little over halfway around, the wind start whipping the trees and blowing up the lake like some mystical beast was going to emerge from it. That's where my mind was, anyway, because of the Scottish historical fiction I read earlier this week--more on that later. (Also, there's a concession stand on that side of the lake that has some inexplicable signage about the "Snack Ness Monster" on it so, you know, maybe there's something to that mystical beast idea.)

By the time I got to the bridge, it was pouring. I was running hard and grinning like an idiot. I picked up about 10 extra pounds in sodden clothing weight. And I felt like crap, but good, too, exhilarated and hoping that I wasn't going to draw any lightning. Did you know that there was a park ranger who was struck by lightning 7 different times in his life? None of those strikes killed him, either. I think after the third time I'd probably consider changing jobs.

The sink's still full of my wet clothes. The cat's been trying to get a piece of me for hours, and I just made my favorite shake: frozen bananas, soy milk, peanut butter (except with almond butter, a new contender), and cocoa powder. Deeeelicious.

Working it on out, part infinity.

I went for a run around the lake this evening right when the sun was going down and the full moon was waiting in the wings, a ghost of itself in the blue sky. Everything is blooming, finally, and the trees smell delicious. I did a pattern of running 6 minutes, walking one minute, repeat repeat repeat, which meant I only walked a total of four minutes in my three mile run, minus my warmup and cooldown. This is good for me. I mean have you SEEN my physique? I am what you might call "bottom-heavy." I'm a very earthbound runner, and not a really motivated one.

I'm doing a 5K, my first ever, in a few weeks. I keep mentally pooh-poohing it because it seems like most anyone can get up in the morning and crap bigger than a 5K, but it is actually sort of big for me because, while I like sporty stuff, I've had such don't-wanna attitude about physical training of any kind for most of my life. Seriously, when I played volleyball in high school, I'd be the one faking that my contact popped out during wind sprints and I'd go away to the locker room. Unfortunately coach would be waiting for me to finish the drill and she'd run it with me, just like a good coach, but mentally I'd be doing ugly crying and flinging myself face down on my bed the whole time.

So it's a change for me to adopt any kind of conscientious training regimen, however half-assed. I'm not talking about regular old exercise. I'm talking about like running even when you have a stitch in your side. Here's a true confession: until about two months ago, I had never ever continued running through a stitch. But one day I had one, and I was like "fuck it, I'm going to do this," and I kept going, and it sucked for like 8 minutes. But then it was gone and I could get back to the normal kind of running hate instead of the special side pain kind of hate that usually just makes me abandon the whole project.

You may remember awhile back I wrote something or other about wanting to try things I'm not good at, in order to get some humility and work at getting better. I may not have written the thing about humility, but I do think that's partly what it's about. I've realized in recent years that there's a life lesson I seem to have missed as a child, and that's the lesson about plain old persistence, about working really hard in order to accomplish worthwhile things. (It's not your fault, Mom. You probably told me and I just wasn't listening, or you were busy trying get Hobby to use the toilet.) I was good at a lot of schooly stuff and I liked accolades. Naturally I focused more on the activities that got me positive attention than the ones that required a lot of work and maybe involved delayed gratification. That's how I've rolled.

Anyway, ramped-up physical activity is fitting the bill right at the moment, for that particular life lesson. I mean, look: practically everyone is faster than me, lots of people are stronger, and most people are more motivated. But I am still going to do this little race, and then maybe I'll do another one, and then maybe I'll think about a sprint triathlon. And I'm riding my bike to work, and maybe I'll start riding other places too, even places wayyyy over in St Paul that would have seemed too far away last year for anything other than a recreational day trip.

I smell like a campfire right now. We just burned a big load of scrap wood in the fire pit, and it was excellent, all orange sparks leaping up into the midnight blue while the solar path lights struggled to stay lit in the blaze. There's a "men in hula" documentary on in the background, so every once in awhile I look up and see some dudes practicing their hip swivel. Go men.

I want to ride it where I like.

This morning I enacted yet another resolution for my well-being: I biked to work. I launched my freshly-showered and street-clothed arse out on a mission to bike commute once a week. It's sort of a wussy resolution, but one day of biking will save me almost a gallon of gas each week while injecting stealth exercise into my schedule. (It's stealthy only in the sense that it's a matter of transportation rather than being specifically a workout. I will be entirely aware of the fact that I am getting exercise. In fact, I will probably be engaging in the same type of exasperated hate [exasperhate] that is usually reserved for running.)

The plan seems very doable right now, but then I picked the perfect day to launch: 55 degrees and sunny, no big wind. Wait to hear how loudly I moan when it's 85 and about to thunderstorm. The genius of my plan, though, is that I can choose the day I bike commute based on the weather report (and whether or not I need to see people when I get to work).

Today I learned some things:
-My bike is slow, but then I myself am not fast.
-My helmet hair is not so tragic as I forecasted.
-I took a slightly stupid route that I won't repeat on the way home.
-I should probably get some wicking underwear.
-Being sweaty for the first half hour of work is no big deal.
-I will probably end up buying a different bike if I keep doing this. Or at least skinnier tires.